This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Arbrand on 2024-05-29 18:21:46+00:00.

[Part 1]

[Part 2]

[Part 3] <- You are here.

The first thing that pierced the black veil of unconsciousness was the sharp, unyielding pain in my side, followed by the distant ringing of a phone at the night shift nurse's desk. I turned my head slowly, each movement sending waves of agony through my body, and saw a doctor reading from a manila folder. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” he said with surprise, noticing my movement. “I was wondering when you’d come around. That knife did quite a bit of damage.” His nametag read “Dr. Wilcox”.

I tried to shift myself, only to feel the restraints binding my wrists to the bed. A small panic welled within me as I tugged against them, the leather straps digging into my skin. 

“Quite a lot of alkaloids in your blood and urine as well,” the doctor continued in a detached tone. “Some type of poison. I’m surprised your heart didn’t give out. The surgeon's decision to administer anti-arrhythmics might have saved your life.” 

I glanced around the room, trying to get my bearings. The faint glow of the moon filtered through the large window, casting shadows over the murky waters of the Puget Sound. 

“Why am I in restraints?” I asked. 

“That’s for your own protection,” he smiled. “Didn’t want you wriggling away with all those stitches. Almost two hundred in total, most on the inside. Just barely missed the abdominal aorta. That one isn’t so easy to stitch up.” 

“Well, can you take them off? They’re hurting...” I asked with an irritated tone. 

“No, I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “Besides, now that you’re awake, we need to move you to a more accelerated treatment program.” 

With that, he pressed a button on the wall, and two orderlies entered the room, wheeling a heavy-duty medical chair. “Strap him in,” the doctor ordered. 

The orderlies moved quickly, roughly unstrapping my wrists from the bed and yanking me up. 

I winced as pain shot through my side, but they ignored my protests. As they lifted me, I felt a sharp, tearing sensation. I looked down and saw a small pool of blood seeping through the bandages. 

“Wait! Wait! I think one of my stitches ripped,” I said, my voice trembling from pain. 

The doctor glanced at the blood, his expression unchanged. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he said dismissively before turning to one of the orderlies. “Take him to the basement. Oh, and be sure to use the service elevator.” 

“Wait, what? Why?” I said, turning my head desperately. “Why are you taking me to the basement?” 

“Do not worry, Mr. Morrison,” he said as he approached with a syringe in hand. Grabbing my arm, he quickly inserted the needle and injected me with a milky white substance, “This will help you relax.” 

Almost immediately, a heavy drowsiness began to wash over me. The sounds around me started to blur, my limbs felt heavy, and my eyelids drooped despite my efforts to stay alert. 

The lights of the ceiling passed over me in a blur, like headlights from cars on a rainy night. The walls appeared in sickly shades of green and yellow, the scent of cheap antiseptic failing to mask the odors of death and decay. Sweat pooled on my skin as my neck rolled uncontrollably, my eyes struggling to focus on any object whirling by. 

At the end of the hallway, I saw the doors to the service elevator, a double-wide metal contraption mottled with splotches of rust. It approached slower than our pace should have allowed, and I distinctly remember the sensation as if I were being fed into the mouth of some great beast. 

As we accelerated down the hallway, a nurse appeared from around the corner, standing directly in our path. The wheelchair screeched to a halt, and I would have fallen to the floor if not for the straps anchoring me down. 

Their conversation was mostly muffled as I tried to steady my head enough to look directly at the woman arguing with the orderlies. 

After a tense moment, the two orderlies reluctantly walked away as she took control of the chair and turned down another hallway, away from the elevator. Leaning down, her breath cool on my ear, she whispered, “We are in more danger than you could possibly imagine.” 

We abruptly stopped again, before she wheeled me backwards into a small room. “We need to get you changed.” she said as she grabbed some scrubs from off a shelf and began undressing me. “Can you stand?” 

I felt drool dribble down my chin as I asked who she was. “Kelly, from GSNN. I don’t have time to explain right now, I just need to know if you can walk.”  

I tried to say no, but only managed to blow a spit bubble out of my foaming mouth. “Shit, okay.” she replied as she finished dressing me. “Put your arm over me” she said as she hoisted me out of my chair.  

We reentered the hallway, thankfully empty, the silence amplifying my ragged breaths. Each step was a monumental effort, my focus narrowing to the simple act of placing one foot in front of the other as Kelly supported my weight. 

Somehow, we reached the elevators. Kelly pressed the button, her eyes darting around nervously. Footsteps echoed up the hallway, growing louder. She quickly turned me to face away just as two doctors strolled past, too engrossed in argument for them to notice us. 

The elevator dinged and opened. Two male nurses inside stopped mid-conversation to stare at us. Kelly gave a meek smile as she half-carried, half-dragged me into the elevator, leaning me against the corner. 

The nurses continued to stare, suspicion flickering in their eyes. Kelly managed a small, strained smile. “Tried to pull a 48-hour shift. I told him he couldn’t do it.” 

The nurses chuckled, one patting my shoulder. “You doing alright, buddy?” 

I summoned every ounce of strength to speak clearly. “Never better. Can’t you tell?” 

They laughed again. “You’ll be alright. Hang in there.” 

The elevator doors opened to the chaotic lobby, the noise hitting us like a wave. The tension in my chest eased slightly as we were momentarily swallowed by the crowd. Some clearly homeless individuals huddled in corners, seeking warmth from the cold outside. A woman stood nearby, arguing loudly with a doctor, her voice sharp and desperate. Families milled about, their faces etched with worry, while children with broken arms and bandaged heads clung to their parents. 

Kelly hoisted me up again, the strain evident in her muscles. She guided me to a chair amidst the chaos, her eyes darting around, taking in every detail. At the center of the lobby sat a security desk with two guards, their eyes intermittently scanning the area, looking bored and indifferent to the surrounding commotion. 

Kelly quickly made a call on her cellphone. “Front entrance, now.” As she spoke, her gaze never stopped moving, constantly on alert for any sign of danger. The lobby's frenetic energy surrounded us, but for a moment, we were just another part of the hospital's endless flow of people. 

"Hey, you two! We need all hands in the ER, stat," a nurse called out, rushing past with a face flushed with urgency. "We've got two GSWs coming in and we're short-handed. Trauma bays are filling up fast." 

"Sorry, can't," Kelly shot back. 

The nurse stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowing. "What do you mean ‘can't’?” 

Kelly hesitated for a moment. "Dr. Wilcox," she said. "Told us to stay on standby for a special case." 

The nurse frowned, "Dr. Wilcox? He’s in the recovery room. You know we need everyone in the ER right now.” She paused, “Where are your ID badges?" 

Kelly's hand instinctively moved to her chest, "We must have left them in the break room. We were in a rush." 

The nurse's gaze became more intense. "Both of you forgot them in the break room? Why were they even off in the first place? Wait here," she said, turning towards the security desk. 

“Shit! Shit! Get up!” Kelly hissed into my ear as she put my arm back over her shoulder, bee lining towards the entrance. I looked over to see the nurse talking to the security guard at the desk and pointing directly at us. 

The doors opened as a black CRV pulled up. Kelly threw me into the back and ran around to the passengers seat, slamming the door. The security guards rushed in front of our car, drawing their weapons and assuming a firing stance. 

The wheels screeched on the pavement as the driver gunned it, hitting one of the guards and sending him tumbling onto the sidewalk.  

“You okay, little man?” I heard a familiar voice say. I looked up to see Tim driving. 

“He’ll be alright… I think.” Kelly replied.

“After you didn’t show, I knew something was wrong,” Kelly said softly, taking a sip of her coffee. “Thankfully, your brother-in-law reached out. I had some trouble finding you, especially since you were checked into the hospital as a John Doe.” 

I still felt groggy, but the coffee helped. I sat on my worn, comfortable sofa, while Kelly perched at the dining table and Tim stood gazing out the window. 

“The woman at the shop helped us find you. She broke pretty easily,” Tim said without turning around. “Didn’t know anything about Chloe, though.” 

“Did you figure out why they were so angry with us?” I asked. 

“She messed up. The event was members only. She let you slip in through the shop,” He replied. 

I absorbed the informat...

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